Her Invitation And All Its Implications
by RedNightBird
Summary: Challenged to write a vampire human meeting and re-imagine it. Fielder's choice for the other rules. Mick comes off the "Cure", what could happen?


Originally published at for a Challenge at Moonlight Forever dot com.

A lot of us have read Angel of Vengeance and know that Trevor requires a vampire to be invited in.

In the True Blood universe this invite can be rescinded, as Sookie banishes Bill.

So what if, the Moonlight vampires we know had to be invited in?

Can humans walk untouched in the vampire's lair?

Challenge: Choose a vampire human meeting and reimagine it. Fielder's choice for the other rules.

Thank-you, Mx_ for your challenge_

* * *

**Her invitation and all its ramifications**

(NC17)

First Season between the MC and FTP

* * *

Beth walked the length of the passageway of the wine cellar with determination.

Savage growls protested her approach, but her stride did not falter. Why Mick had holed up here she did not know. Josef had been against Mick "taking the cure", yet Mick had gone behind both of their backs to seek out the drug that would give him some respite from his "condition" that he found to be so despicable. As with anything that has "pros", this medication has "cons", unknown negatives that were just rearing their ugly head as the drug wore off Mick.

Josef had sought to sequester Mick, yet the pains of separation were too much for Beth. She had let him know over the phone that she would be at his home to take the journey down to the wine cellar.

The way was faintly lit by low voltage lights, but the underlying darkness of these catacomb-like halls – seemed to be a haven for misery that was as much spiritual as corporal. Josef had called these halls past the wine cellar a forgotten place; Mick, in his delirium, had come here to be forgotten.

"He'll strike at you" Josef's words warranted, almost unarguably, by the blood on his clothes. It was just a few weeks ago that he'd been wounded at his "house party", and now this fresh blood gave Josef cause to warn Beth. Mick was not himself. Josef felt a hurt far worse than what had gone before, because Mick was at its heart, and it would be Mick who would grieve most once he came to his wits, If he came to his senses.

The effect of Coraline's drug had not been fully known, and Mick "returned" should have come down by now. Considering his supernatural physical make-up, she was astonished that he had succumbed so strongly at all. Yet this frenzy – and his anger were growing perceptibly harsher the closer she came.

Why had Mick tried the cure? She didn't want the 2.2 kids and the picket fence, she wanted the doublewide freezer.

"He's not the Mick we know" Josef's soft voice had admonished Beth with an edge to cushion the blow.

No, not the Mick they knew, but still Mick. Layers of ingrained conduct, refinement, peeled away by Coraline, to reveal something…quite different, but still Mick. Beth had to believe that, had to take this baser Mick to her heart and love him as best she could. As she had just told Josef, she had no choice.

"He could drain you", another solid warning from Josef.

Yes, he could. But that didn't mean he would. He could have killed Josef, too, yet his old friend continued to walk the earth, undead as ever. Beth had seen firsthand the damage Mick could inflict when fighting for his loved ones – the evisceration, the sheer butchery, and she didn't kid herself: Josef had got off lightly. A cautionary strike from a trapped being, meant to dissuade approach, not to kill. A similar blow would undoubtedly fell her, yet Mick would never stake her and she prayed viciousness didn't come; not for her own sake, for she was beyond caring for her own safety…except that her agony was his.

She was just a few feet from him now. All human resemblance had fled. He was crouched in the shadows, snarling viciously, muscles quivering, and fangs ready for feeding.

"Don't come any closer" Mick's voice was rough, dry throated, she jumped at his tone. Beth considered folklore; old wives' tales about vampires have to be invited to cross a threshold. She was not vampire and tonight there was no threshold to cross, no invitations to brook. She took a confident step closer. Icy eyes glared; filled with blue white venom she could hardly believe were meant for her. What was he seeing? What fantasies maddened him so?

Unnatural sweat was dripping from his forehead, and close proximity brought a blast of uncommon feverish heat. He was baring his fangs to an unprecedented extent, so much so that she almost feared he would dislocate his jaw; never had he appeared as demonic as at this moment, and she walked straight into his arms.

At their contact, the bulk of the tension in his body seemed to fall away, although the cold that enveloped her was frightening. His chest heaved in a jerky rhythm, and as she pressed herself closer she could feel his undead heart ratcheting down to where she usually felt the slow, slow, slow rhythm.

"I love you, Mick" Beth's heart was breaking, what venom had they fed him? What was the antidote? It scared her deeply; Beth was not sure if the many phases from vampire to human to vampire would result in Mick's end. Yet already he seemed more lucid, clutching her to him and muttering her name. Maybe everything would be alright after all; perhaps the Duvalls would not be claiming another soul this day. When she thought of the wasted lives –all of Coraline's "meals" – she felt blessed that Mick would not be included in their number.

Behind her, she could sense buoyant mumbling and tentative measure, but for the moment she ignored them. Mick's ashen face rested on top of her head, his panting breaths ruffling her hair, and she felt as though she would gladly stay that way forever, forever…..what would be their "forever"? Flickering firelight soon intruded on their embrace, however, and she pulled away a little, wanting to measure his expression.

The slight light glittered strangely in his eyes, which were focused on her with almost fraught passion. She saw with some confusion that his pupils were becoming more dilated rather than less – despite the light – and felt a frisson of fear for him. At her back, she could hear Josef's uneven step and the crackle of the sticks and twigs underfoot, and she wished acutely that they would stay away. Mick was not alright, not by a long shot, and their presence might be hurtful to him. How did she know they wouldn't bring in The Cleaners?

Even as she contemplated calling to them to stay back, a change came over Mick. An expression of baffled rage swept across his face, and she knew instinctively that it was the unknown more than anything that incited this fresh madness. As the low light glinted off his ivory skin, he reeled from it, drawing her back with him. He was bristling with agitation, and gripped her close once more; his snarling began anew, the savage sound making her skin ripple with gooseflesh.

Josef's advance halted abruptly; she heard Josef urging the others back with a soft but imperative order. Mick's growls grew louder, as if to drown out the sound of Josef's voice; at the same time he thrust her behind him, shielding her body with his own. She wondered what hallucinogenic vision the drug had dreamt up. What was he protecting her from?

Peeping around the cover of Mick's body, she saw that Josef was standing surprisingly close. His shrewd eyes seemed to size up his friend's protective stance, before he moved backwards with slow deliberation. It was not until he had reached the other end of the passage that Mick dropped his guard at all, and that only to direct a low, admonitory growl at Beth who was still trying to watch what was going on.

Beth took the gentle rebuke as it was obviously intended, and fell behind him once more. If it comforted him to 'safeguard' her in this way, she would comply with his drug-induced wishes. She herself took some comfort from the fact that he had not struck at Josef again, although she did not fool herself that Mick was even close to being the Mick she knew.

They remained there, alone, for long minutes. She stroked his back soothingly, but there was a wary stillness about him almost as impenetrable as the darkness that surrounded them. She saw and heard nothing of the others; they had evidently fallen back a fair distance, although it was not far enough judging by Mick's attentiveness. He consented to her touch, but gave a soft hiss when she spoke his name.

Finally he shifted, straightening from his semi-crouch to turn and take her up in his arms. The sudden movement seemed even more effortless than usual, the adrenaline, or something, still firing his veins. She was glad to be held; the blackness around them gave her a profound sense of bewilderment that only his presence could allay. He settled her with solicitous proficiency, his right arm tucked beneath her knees, his left supporting her upper body, and they set off suddenly before she had time to catch her breath.

How he knew where to go, she could not imagine. The darkness pressed heavily, but he seemed immune to it, running without hesitation. With no visible bearings, the jolting movement made her a little nauseous; yet even as the feeling swept over her, his gait smoothed to accommodate. A gentle keening murmured in his throat, barely audible over his remarkably soft footfalls, and she was struck by how well he could make himself understood, when all words but her name had gone.

She slung her right arm around his neck, needing the closeness and stability. He was still outrageously hot, his soft skin steaming, and her fingers found his pulse chattering at an alarming rate for a vampire. At her touch its quaver calmed somewhat, but not its pace. She raised her free hand to stroke his thundering heart, willing the drug-fever away before it killed him.

Her anxiety prompted him to cradle her closer until her face was buried in his neck. The contact was ticklish and irresistible, and she breathed in his heady fragrance. She could feel the ground scrape at her feet, and realized he had dropped to his knees in his sudden disorientation. It seemed amazing how bound they were, even now when he should have felt most disconnected. Just feeling the steady weight of those fever-bright eyes gave her strength, and she shook off her dizziness. As if sensing her resolution, he rose once more to his feet and took off.

The pace did not lessen, but she guessed they were travelling through some awkward sections of subbasement; he would hunch over her, making certain her head was protected, before easing them both through narrow halls. More than once she felt the brush of the stone walls, sometimes dry, sometimes dank, but never did he allow it to scrape her. The routes he chose were in some instances uneven and crude, with loose stones crunching underfoot, only to transform abruptly into well-trodden paths and gangways. All were unlit, but some of the passes bore the sheen of fungal or bacterial growth, which glinted off the damp rock walls. From the faint whiff of decay, she surmised that they were traversing the length of something ancient; the age and vastness of the place stunned her. She speculated that Josef and his community were just the most recent inhabitants of ground that had witnessed the passing of decades.

Even as she contemplated the sheer history of this place, they emerged into a large open space where the water blew in a fine mist and a breeze fluttered through her hair. They left behind the mold covered walls, giving the brilliant night and at the sight of the moon Mick gave a soft growl of warning.

Wondering how much of what she saw and felt was reality, and how much was shadow, she burrowed deeper into her cowl neck and held stubbornly to Mick's unnatural heat. He carried her down to a sandy spot; the air seemed remarkably clean, leaving a faint mineral taste in her mouth. Mick's complete confidence in his direction communicated itself strongly to her, and she lay relaxed in his arms. Perhaps he wasn't well – and perhaps she was a little light-headed and overheated herself – but she had to have faith that they would be okay.

She felt as if they had been moving for days, although she suspected it was just a little over half an hour. Mick had yet to show any sign of exhaustion, in spite of carrying her so far. Mick placed her reverently not the ground, she realized, although her outstretched fingertips met grit. No, he'd laid her down on a canvas of some kind, quite a large one. The fabric at her back was thick and musty with a faint scent reminded her of Mick's bed. Burying her nose in her elbow, she was certain he had reposed here, and the thought made her shiver.

Josef or whoever he had called had not followed them. They were uninvited and again the folklore ran through her soul. Mick hadn't invited her, yet he hadn't repelled or threatened her. In his urgency to escape the others – their intrusion, their meddling, he had spirited them both to this lonely retreat beyond the cellar. She couldn't guess how large the secluded beach front was – it was too dark – but she sensed the area was small with tall stone encroachments enclosing it.

It made her think of the beach in a wartime movie, if only the surf was washing over them in a lover's embrace.

Propping her head on the heel of her hand, she surveyed the darkness, trying to locate Mick. Her ears found him first, as he rustled quietly nearby, their eyes met – it was the only part of his body she could get a true fix on. She wondered what he was doing particularly since as far as she could tell he had not taken his eyes off her. Although she could see him only as a vague outline, his potent physical presence was undeniable, there was a restless edge to his movements

Cold fingers clamped around her wrist, and at the familiar contact her alarm subsided. It was Mick; she would know his touch anywhere. Yet even as she calmed, a startling realization swept over her: his invisibility was in fact nakedness.

The surprise of discovery flared in her mind, and she could not contain an astonished gasp. Her pulse quickened, creating a roaring din in her ears. That he should make himself so available to her! And was it even Mick who was the vulnerable one here?

Icy fingertips stroked over her wrist where the pulse hammered relentlessly, Mick's thumb traced circles across her vein; his grip reduced her movement. The thundering in her ears slowed enough that she could hear him crooning softly; the hoarse sound was soothing, and contained an unmistakable note of entreaty. She was defenseless against this thralling, her hand turning in his until they could clasp one another. Yet even as her eyes were drawn to the meeting of their hands, she was reminded anew of his uncertain nature; at this close range she could see the fangs extended, his eyes glazed.

God, what had Coraline done to him? She reflected anxiously on what was known of the drug…precious damned little. The lab boys had nothing, even Bioanalysis. Under the drug's sway he was acting very "Un-Mick". She had to be strong for his sake.

Tugging gently at her hand, though, she realized that he might be beyond her influence. His grip tightened perceptibly, not enough to hurt her, but sufficient to keep her immobile. She had nowhere to go; the rock at her back held firm, and Mick seemed firmer still; he released a muted growl at her resistance, wordlessly expressive of his determination that she submit to his embrace, to embrace this vampire when he had repelled her physical advances in the past.

Beth was uncertain how to progress; she prayed for the old Mick, the one that ran up the stairs, away from her advances, yet felt hesitant to comply with an appeal made when he was intoxicated. The decision was clearly not hers, however, for as she lay passive before him, his hands found her waist and wrested her away from the canvas.

Left breathless by the sudden motion, she found herself hauled upright into a sitting position. His hands wound their way through her hair, and he pressed his face close to hers until brows touched and noses brushed. He was growing cold and wet with the drug's leaving his system, his breath a cool vapor through flared nostrils, his eyes icy blue pools. She feared his kiss, then_….. it did not come._

Instead he eased her head back and grazed the line of her jaw with his fangs, the action both polished and sensual. A curl of desire twisted deep within her, and she tried to crush it, knowing that she must put an end to these longed-for caresses; why did they have to come now, when he was out of his senses? The temptation to yield to him was so strong, yet she knew without a doubt that he would not choose this, that he would be horrified by his actions. She had to do what was right for Mick, and disregard her own desires.

But she couldn't disregard him. He wouldn't allow it. Even now his mouth was discovering the fragile flesh beneath her ear, and tasting her stuttering pulse. The desire began spiraling once more in her belly, too strong for conscience. Mick tugged restlessly at the turtleneck impeded his mouth, and she knew a like impatience for the barriers to come down; she fought the longing stubbornly.

As if sensing her ambivalence – and she was certain he did sense it, despite his transformation, Mick sounded a deep-timbered growl into the crook of her neck before giving her a reproachful nip. It seemed he would not be dictated to, would not feel daunted by reservations so at odds with what her body told him, what it had always told him.

The catch of his teeth on her skin stilled her in body and thought, and his chest emitted a low rumble of passionate approval before he released her, soothing the mild hurt with the rasp of his tongue. Her troubled spirits felt strangely eased by his almost peremptory actions; she'd never known him to take such an assertive attitude towards her and no matter how unlike him it was, it still satisfied some primitive need deep within her. She would have found such possessive forcefulness repugnant in another man; in Mick, it beguiled her, because it affirmed so much of the longing he usually kept smothered…and because she trusted him. Even under the Cure's influence she trusted him.

He withdrew from her suddenly, and although she knew they must stop, she almost cried out in denial; the loss of his fanged mouth left a bitter loneliness. His hands, however, found the fastening on her jacket, and she was soon torn between vexation and relief as he tugged the garment away from her body; it seemed that he had no thought of withdrawal at all.

His efforts left her off-balance, and without the support of his hands, she fell back on the canvas. Helpless in the dark, she was reminded of when he found her in the teaching assistant's car. She reached out now, anxious for his touch, and felt his hand close about her own. If she dared open her mouth, she might even start begging. Every good intention counted for nothing, it seemed; she felt utterly defeated by his hunger and her own. In this lonely place it felt as if the real world and all its worries were far away; their elemental need for one another was all that mattered.

Almost as if he had been waiting for this realization he fell upon her, insinuating himself low between her legs and pressing his face against her midriff with a sigh. The expanse of his chest forced her thighs wide, and although he supported most of his weight on his arms, she still felt overwhelmed by his iron muscularity, and quivered at the thought of being covered by him.

With an otherworldly groan, his head lowered to her clothed breasts. She wondered if she might die from the bittersweet sensation of his bare flesh. She wondered if she might die if he didn't release her from her imprisoning clothing, so that she could hold him to her with both hands and never let him go.

She wondered if she might die only to live undead.

He nuzzled her hard above her sternum, pressing her breasts together to embrace his face. She could feel his thumbs lifting her, his fingers supporting her, and a restraint that kept the barely-leashed violence from scoring her. She wondered if he would remember this, even under this starving provocation. She wasn't certain she would be able to show a similar consideration, and was almost grateful for the clothing that hampered her; unbearably aroused, she could feel her own nails itching to claw at his back.

He rubbed himself into the furrow between her breasts then nudged insistently. By the time he raised his head, she was whimpering, her thighs clasping him vehemently. As if he were just realizing her predicament, he caught at the clothing that still bound her and eased it fully over her head and further up her arms. As more flesh was exposed, he followed it with his mouth, grazing his tongue along the cords and hollows of her neck, and murmuring incoherently into her underarms until she wanted to scream with ticklish delight.

Even as he freed her arms from the clothing, she was more firmly bound by his own grip; he seemed to take intense pleasure in stroking the length of her arms and testing her resistance. Riding higher up on her body, he let more and more of his weight rest upon her until his hips wedged firmly between hers. When he finally drew her sweater from her hands and flung the wisp of mohair away, he loomed over her at full stretch. She felt as if he were scenting her as prey, as a meal. When had his transformation begun? Had he anticipated the "returning" and had he fed?

But, oh, how she wanted to feed him! Her hips rocked furiously beneath his weight, her wrists struggling in his clasp. She rubbed her breasts into his leanly muscled torso, wanting to cry at the thought that, but for Coraline' machinations, she might never have known this melting pleasure. It was a vile, almost profane belief that she should be grateful to such a woman, and for such a reason!

Mick, however, would not admit delay. He released her hands and sank down the length of her body, leaving her quivering under the brush of his darkly falling hair. The unfastening of her trousers was accomplished in an instant, and he soon coaxed them – together with her panties – over her hips and down her shaking legs. A brief tussle ensued as he tried to remove everything, including her shoes, at once, but soon she was naked beneath him.

With a tormented growl, he settled between her thighs once more, his mouth pressing fever-hot against her belly. Her heart lurching frantically, she buried one hand in his hair and forced the other to her mouth, while her legs searched for purchase on his body. Sensitive to her every craving, he took her knees and moved them over the iron support of his shoulders, until her ankles crossed behind his neck.

She was keening now, a hungry, pleading sound that accompanied the helpless bucking of her hips. His hands took her buttocks in a steadying grip and his lips moved lower, eager to grant her body's demand; she was coming in a molten rush, and the initial icy huff of his breath against her open body was met with ecstasy. Just the thought of Mick there…

She bit back a scream, her teeth digging painfully into her wrist, wishing it was Mick biting her. She was dimly aware that her sudden climax was forcing his next steps, though there was nothing to tell her as he was utterly silent. She was also aware that he was not yet finished, that he would take her there again and again, and that next time he would be inside her.

What predicated his "transformation"? He called it the 4 F's, to fight, to flee, to feed, oh, and the final "F", what he'd never get near her for…to fuck. Yet now his body was gathering itself for the bite or that carnal joining or both.

The feeling had little time to crystallize before he was leaning over her once more, his glittering, voracious eyes meeting hers. There was a mesmerizing aspect in his gaze, and she stroked his cheek dreamily; he was as still as stone, as chilled and humming, and she was reminded of the bas-relief she had touched in the catacombs. She waited to be filled by him, waited until time seemed suspended, and then she waited no more.

Hours later, Mick watched over her sleep. He could see very little of her, just the fall of her hair. She was wrapped snug in is arms he reminded himself grimly – and was facing away from him.

Mick expected no less, he was abhorrent. Strong shoulders slumping with weariness, he waited patiently for a sign of stirring. Her rest was deep and dreamless, her body unnaturally still. He was to blame for this quiescence, for he had forced it upon her, manipulating her to his own purpose, imposing his will. A despicable act of the monster that he had known he was capable of, yet he had buried it, and not the least of his transgressions.

If only she would wake. Yet he dreaded it, dreaded the hatred and loathing in her eyes. And whatever her eyes told him would be magnified a thousand-fold by his drinking her blood, a punishment well deserved.

He could remember some of it. Much was lost in the psychedelic frenzy. Josef. God, had he truly struck at Josef? Surely that had been a dream…yet the crack of bone still ricocheted in his ears. Nothing had made sense except Beth. And even she had seemed strange, a pagan offering to a Blood Goddess beckoning him to make a fiery sacrifice. The Beth he knew would gladly sacrifice herself to him, oh how far he had fallen to have taken that gift and taken it so savagely.

It was only after she had walked into his arms that events crystallized in his mind. This was his Beth. Vulnerable, beloved flesh and bone placed trustingly in his dark grasp. The dizzying sensations of paranoia and disorientation had fallen away, to be replaced by the familiar need to protect her. Her presence strengthened him, her touch giving him purpose and will. Danger was all around; it was imperative that they not be separated. He wanted only to snatch her up and carry her away to a safe place, far from whatever threatened them both.

A safe place. He looked about him and shook his head in disgust. He knew this beachfront well; it was one of the places he came to when he felt most conflicted about her whenever he visited Josef. When his defenses were at their lowest ebb and he watched Josef sup on the blood of Freshies, when he felt the weakest. And this was where he had brought her.

Mick could not even tell himself that it had been an unconscious act. When all else had seemed terrifyingly unfamiliar, he had recognized her touch, both the corporal responsiveness and the thread of rationality reaching across their hearts. He had even known her name, at least for a few moments. The name was soon gone, but the feelings it had invoked lingered; he had known a primitive need to claim her and keep her.

That need was nothing new; it had been with him since the moment he had wrenched her from Coraline's grasp.

Mick had ignored his need steadfastly since she walked thru the freezing fountain water, almost a year now; smothering his every possessive instinct no matter how vehemently they had erupted within his undead soul. Josef had predicted, his inner vampire would rear its ugly head and not be ignored. Mick felt in his bones that she was made for him, that she was his mate. Only his rational self, his conscience, kept his undead nature in check; and Coraline's Cure had loosed the chains.

Mick groaned, unable to shake off the ache of foreboding. His actions had been unforgivable, his every weakness uncovered. Surely it must come to an end now, this dream of love; it could not survive such naked exposure of his darkness, his demons. The separation would be harder still now that he had tasted of her, but he would take the punishment as his due. It was "Good-night, Vienna".

Almost in reaction to his distress, a tremor shook the stillness of his sleeping angel and within a moment she was awake; he was relieved that she was able to throw off the unnatural sleep he had imposed, but steeled himself for what would come. She rolled over slowly, and he watched her brow furrow in confusion. The dim moonlight light fell across her face, and one small fist crept to knuckle at her eyes.

"Mick?" She called his name with soft hesitance, and his heart twisted at the sound.

"Beth. I'm here." His greeting was a hoarse whisper, and he trembled to see a smile crease her face. She peered in his direction but did not meet his eyes, and he realized that she could not see him.

He stepped tentatively from the dark recess where he had stood watch over her; just a few strides across the uneven ground would bring him to where she lay. As he came within her sight, however, her smile widened. "Mick, are you alright?"

It humbled him. After all that he had put her through, her first concern was for him. "I…am, I think, Beth."

She reached out for him, and he stepped closer to take her outstretched hand, helpless to deny her. She tugged imperatively and he obeyed the unspoken demand, kneeling at her side.

"You're OK, aren't you? Your pupils…" Her voice drifted off as she examined his eyes; her own continued to blink owlishly. "They seem to be that beautiful shade of hazel that I love, although I don't know if that proves anything. I can hardly see a thing myself, anyhow." She actually chuckled a little before raising their joined hands to his forehead. "Feels cool again, not feverish, you were feverish, or was it my imagination?"

Even as she said the words, he felt his skin flush in contradiction. A swim had put an end to the drug-fever; he had stroked relentlessly through the frigid water for over an hour until the last of the poison had been sweated from his system. His body did not so easily forget Beth.

A blush was creeping into her own cheeks as her eyes adjusted to the light, and he realized that her gaze had dropped to his bare chest. He didn't know why she should stare so avidly; having dragged on his Henley, he was significantly more covered than he had been…before.

He wasn't thinking at all. The Cure, the phasing back into being a vampire, his exhaustion…every last bit of sense had been wrung out of him. The near darkness had been as nothing to him, and all the while she had been struggling blind. His ignorance appalled even him.

He stood abruptly, trying to spare her the sight of him. After their intimacy…before…he felt as though he knew her by heart, and it had not occurred to him that she would not feel a like familiarity. In the grip of his delirium he had forced himself on her, mistaking shock for acceptance. Now she studied him for the first time as a woman who had taken him into her body as well as fed him, and he felt agonizingly exposed.

There was to be no reprieve either. "Beth, I…forgive me." Mick gestured helplessly at his body, resisting the urge to tug at his Henley; clinging close to his damp skin. I'm so sorry…" He broke off, uncomfortably aware that he was starting to babble, aware also that it wasn't really the clothes he was sorry about, but so much more. He turned away, conscious of her eyes on him, yet unable to meet them.

When he had laid the sleep upon her – his only defense against the feverish hunger that was overwhelming them both – her naked vulnerability had given him such a sweet pang; all he could think was that he was an affront to such loveliness. It was his climax, of all things, that had allowed him to shake off the greater part of returning to his full nature; the strange scent of his own lust had been nauseating. To think that such a thing had been allowed to touch her in any way; but for his impulsive cravings, he could have been inside her, degrading her with his imposition. Only then did he realize he was exuding the chemical odor from every pore, and that it was mingling obscenely with the scent of Beth's body.

Mick had flung himself away from her, feeling sanity return for the first time in hours…and with it great surging of guilt. What was he to do? He hadn't wanted to leave her alone, nor did he trust himself near her, with his body still taut with craving. Paramount in his mind had been the necessity to rid this miasma clinging to him. Trying desperately not to touch her, or even look at her – knowing to do so would demoralize his efforts – he had eased the semen-stained canvas from beneath her body before wrapping her tenderly in a beach towel. It was then that she had turned in her sleep to face the rocks, like an unconscious censure. What was she thinking?

"Mick?" The tentative touch of her hand on his back startled him, making him flinch; it was a measure of his abstraction.

"Don't touch me," he muttered, moving back into the shadows beyond her reach.

"Mick, don't be sorry." There was a note of pleading in her voice, he could tell that the smile had left her face; if he turned around he knew he would find her eyes filled with that softness that never failed to disarm him.

"I am sorry, Beth. More than I can tell you."

He heard her gulp a little. "I…I don't want to hear that. But if you're going to apologize, I wish you would at least look at me."

He turned slowly, his head hanging low. "I have never been so ashamed." Self-loathing lent an unintended harshness to his tone, and as he peered at her from beneath his tangle of curls, he could see her bottom lip quivering.

"Oh, Mick, why? Do you honestly think I would blame you for any of this? Do you think I even mind?"

"I mind!" he snarled. "This loss of reason…of dignity…it violated you. . . . disgraced me.. . . . it hurts us both!"

"Do I look hurt, Mick? Do I?" She pulled herself up straight, queenly in the beach towel and bare feet. "The only way you can cause me pain is by punishing yourself like this."

Mick reached out and stroked his fingertips across her cheek and down her proud neck toward the bite marks. How could he make her see? "Your skin…your soft skin, Beth. It's covered in tooth marks, wherever I touched you. It hurts me to know I put those marks on you…and it hurts more to know that I enjoyed doing it."

"That's not pain, Mick. That's a pleasure." She tried to take his hand in her own, but he pulled away, avoiding her touch even as he longed to submit to it. "If you won't listen to me, look at me; my eyes will tell you I'm not lying."

He tried to concentrate, but it felt bizarre and weak, and he realized he had been cutting himself off from her, too frightened to know the truth. Since that shattering climax they had shared, when he had felt such a helpless thrall to his vampiric demands. Guarding against the loss of control…the loss of himself; terrified of hurting her in the extremity of his feeding.

"What about Josef?" he asked suddenly. "I struck him down. Broke his arm, I know its healed . . .I just hate myself." Stating the fact baldly, he realized it was truth…could even picture the scene in his mind in all its horrifying detail, stripped of haziness. He collapsed to the ground, feeling overcome with sick regret to strike down his "brother".

"Yes, you did." She dropped down beside him, her expression serious. "And he understood, Mick. He's a vampire; I'm sure he could identify all your symptoms as those of new turns."

"Stop!" he cried, not wanting to hear any more of what he thought were rationalizations, "How did you suddenly become a vampire aficionado?" As if it made any of his actions forgivable…

"You were hot, Mick. So hot you scared me. It felt like your skin might dissolve at my touch. And your heart…" She reached out tentatively, as if she might stroke his chest, and he twisted away, unable to bear it. "I thought it might stop. And mine would have stopped soon after."

"No!"

"Yes." There was a conviction in her voice that he couldn't ignore. "I couldn't live without you, Mick. Why do you think I came down to the wine cellar? Josef asked me, and I could tell he regret as soon as he said it; he was thinking as a friend, not as a vampire. But I came anyhow. I told him I had no choice. I wouldn't even want one."

"You had a choice, Beth. You could have left me alone. I wish you had."

"Just like you leave me alone every time I'm in danger?" He glanced up at that, discovering tenderness in her eyes. "Mick, there's something very powerful at work between us. And I can't resist it, any more than you can."

"Beth, I snapped his bone with one swipe of my arm. Just think what I might have done to you." The thought of her, lying broken and bruised at his feet, made him reel with horror.

She took his chin in her gentle hand, holding him gently. "Mick, you were under the influence of a drug you took to be with me, and still you couldn't hurt me. Isn't that more than enough proof of your love?"

More than enough proof. She was sitting here before him, loving and vital, caressing him willingly. He opened himself up to the sensation, rubbing his cheek into her hand…and felt a ghostly tingle in his own palm.

They remained that way for several minutes, taking comfort in the connection. It was amazing how much strength her fragile touch lent him. One of the worst effects of the "returning" had been the disorientation, the sense of rupture from all he knew. She had dispelled the feeling just by walking into his arms. Such thoughts were dangerous.

Her eyes looked huge as she studied him, and a figment of her thoughts flashed in his mind; she was remembering how he had suckled at her breasts, how he had bit her neck. An unmistakable yearning emanated from her that his own body immediately echoed, and he almost fell into her arms.

Trying to shelter his confusion, he wanted to lead her to the beachfront. She was undoubtedly unaware that she was covered in their scent, not just his own distinctive tang – which he was always secretly elated to find on her – but that strange chemical smell that had poured off him in feverish waves as he morphed back into the realm of the undead. He had managed to rub it all over her in his fit of possessive fervor, and desperately wished it eradicated.

There was also the strong scent of her arousal to tease him, and he wanted that gone too. It was an unbearable temptation after all that had happened, tearing his willpower to shreds.

"Fancy place you've got here, St John," she said from directly behind him, and he realized with a start that once more she had snuck up on him unawares. How could he be so attuned to her, and so distracted at the same time?

"Yeah," he said, motioning vaguely about the cave-like area.

"Mick, please stop. I've gone to a great length to convince you that "this" is not your fault. If you want to blame someone, blame Coraline."

"Coraline," he muttered. "I will have to deal with her."

"We'll take care of her, Mick…the two of us. But please, just promise me you won't go after her alone."

"I can't promise that, Beth. I won't put you in harm's way, I'll be careful."

She sighed, and he felt the warm rush of air touch his back. "I suppose there's no immediate urgency. She's probably gone to France."

"Yeah, France, and I'll take care of her when the time comes." He could sense her gathering breath to argue, and tried to distract her. "Would you like to swim, Beth?"

"Swim?" He turned to find her looking about the rocks, the sand, and the calling moonlit surf ahead.

"Oh." She looked endearingly flustered, and held her blanket in a death grip. "Well, I certainly don't relish prancing into Josef's study in my present attire. And as for yours…" She broke off with a light laugh. "I like the look myself, but Josef might want a taste."

He had almost forgotten his state of undress. Josef would indeed raise more than an eyebrow. She watched with a furrowed brow as he shook out her discarded clothes. "Mick? Is there some reason you want me to swim?"

He stared at her impassively, even as he searched his brain for an excuse that would not reveal his shame. The truth would only disturb her…perhaps disgust her. "I thought you might be more comfortable. I'll give you privacy." Mick motioned to the hallway they had come thru.

"No, don't leave! Please, I don't want to be alone. It's just that…" Her voice trailed away; he could feel the tumult of anxiety and embarrassment growing within her, but could not guess its cause. With her eyes cast downward and the beach towel wrapped around her, she looked absurdly young, like the child he had rescued only now she was awaiting punishment with solemn resignation. "Mick, am I not your type?"

He was astonished by the timid question. Repulse him? He loved her so much he ached with it. "How…how could you even think such a thing?"

"I…I don't know. After we…" She bit her lip hard, yet Mick's mouth twitched in response. "Afterwards, I sensed this – I don't know, distaste – and I know it wasn't me. So it must have been you. And now you think I'm dirty, and you're trying to get away. Just deductive reasoning!"

"Oh no, Beth, no!" he cried, shaken by her welling anguish. "It's nothing like that at all!"

"Then tell me. Please?"

He felt utterly wretched to have wounded her so. How strange that she should be pricked by self-doubt. "Beth, you're right. I did feel revulsion, but it was for me, not you. Never for you." Her face was still naked with distress, and he knew he had to try and explain, no matter how dastardly it might sound. "Coraline's drug…while I was human, I wanted you but felt it would be unwise because sooner or later I'd be this again. That realization made it feel like the monster I am. We should never have done…. Then. . . . . . . . I…"

"You fed on me and you came."

Mick flushed miserably at her words. "Yes, it was like a slap in the face –All I could think of was getting away."

She looked thoughtful as she weighed his words, and her eyes followed the paths of rose stippling across her chest and disappearing beneath the blanket. "You made me sleep, didn't you? I thought I passed out, but it was you."

His skin crawled with shame. "It was the only way I could stop, Beth. I couldn't stop myself, so I stopped you instead. I'm so sorry…"

She dipped her fingertips into cool sand, checking the flow of distraught words, the apologies. There was an angry pair of bites also on her wrist, and he felt a strong compulsion to bite himself and draw his own blood to heal her, to soothe it with his tongue. She looked up suddenly and caught the direction of his eyes. In a soft, calm voice she said, "There'll be a bruise, then a scar."

"Yes," he agreed. The colors were already forming.

"I was trying not to scream. I've never felt so out of control." With a quirk of her sweet lips, she hid her hand, hiding the mark he'd made. "Still Mommy's little girl, I guess, important to be a lady."

Again astonishment, Mick had been so worried about his own loss of dignity; it hadn't occurred to him that she might fall prey to parallel thoughts. Her passion had staggered him, underwired him; how could she see it as reason for shame? He took up her hand, obeying his initial instinct. Piercing the silence he bit his wrist to draw his own blood then brushed his bloodied lips gently over her tender skin. The gesture was almost courtly, and then his mouth opened to absorb the excess moisture onto his tongue, and it wasn't courtly at all, but primitive and possessive.

Her pulse seemed to fill his mouth. He tried to fit his lips over the impression made by his fangs, pressing until he felt the pang, then licking the soreness away. Her blood was rushing, he had meant only to comfort, but their mutual need transformed every touch, every breath, into seduction.

Staring down into her eyes, he found them dilated with desirous consequence; reaching deep within himself to the place where she lived, he knew it was true. He couldn't let those eyes go. Turning her hand to lave at the healing sores, he held her midnight gaze stubbornly, and when her eyelids started to slip his hold, he nipped at the delicate slope of skin between her thumb and forefinger, demanding her attention.

Her eyes were wide and wondering, and the sigh of his name escaped her lips. He drew her index finger into his mouth and let her explore his tongue. Surprisingly, it did not disturb him; the speculation in her eyes was more than matched by the sparkle of ardor. She teased the ridged roof of his mouth and traced the savage outline of his incisors, until he was wild to drink her in deep; he suckled the water from each finger in turn, supplanting the moisture with his own.

A smile creased her features, dreamy and disarming, and she took her fingers from his lips to touch her own. "Will you swim with me then?" she asked, a silky whisper that broke his reverie, and he saw that the beach towel had fallen about her waist, released from her grasp.

"Beth!" Had he truly thought he was tired? The sight of her simple surrender ignited him, and his answer was a ragged undertone, raw with wonder. "Yeah, I will."

He breathed her in deeply, tasting the hunger, the molten emptiness. He groped to remove his trousers and her eyes drifted shut, but the dreamy smile remained; it felt like a benediction. He caught her hand and pulled her to her feet. When he laid his hand on her he could not tell who trembled more. They ran like children to the surf, Mick was hopelessly aroused.

Searching for something – anything – to distract him, his eyes found the tiny beauty mark at the hollow of her throat. He remembered that he first saw it just moments before she first saw him. He had dreamt of it often, this small blemish that beckoned his touch, and wondered if she even knew it was there. Once in the water, he fell to his knees before her, overwhelmed with a sense of urgency. Mick cupped the gentle weight of her breasts, gasping as she arched into his hands. Her entire torso was mottled from the less than gentle caress of his teeth, her nipples swollen and suppliant; his every touch accompanied by her soft keening. When he dragged his fingertips along the length of her arms, her muscles flexed hungrily, crying out to hold him…echoing his own craving.

He persuaded her to her feet, snatching her hand again. She could barely stand of her own volition, and wound her hands into his dark curls for support; his own legs trembled in sympathy, and he was glad he was kneeling. Nestling into the buttermilk soft skin of her belly, he flicked his tongue over the mottled imprints he had left. She was exquisite, everything he had ever wanted.

He bound his arms tight about her, listening as her body quickened. Her salty scent rose stronger, more demanding, and he could feel the stunning pull and thrust of her inner muscles, almost like pain. Oh, she was fast, tilting at him, trying him, but he wouldn't let her have her way, not until they were together. How did this human control him?

Honesty lent no moderation; he could only feel her all the more. He loosed his arms, and she was swaying, then sliding, a silken fall along her body. She settled across his thighs, her head tossing in ferment, and he pressed it into the crook of his neck, where he could whisper into her ear, "Not yet, Beth…not without me."

She sobbed, "No, never," and clutched at him. Her thighs were straining to span his, and he hooked his arms beneath them, draping her around his body to relieve her stress. "Never again without you. But hurry!" she pleaded, and he was inside her now, with nothing to separate them.

Ah, but she was tight, so hot and wet he wanted to dissolve in her embrace. He pushed up, and up again, heeding primal instinct until the two of them were so entangled he hardly knew what he was feeling. She met him with a power to match his own, sheltering and savaging him in turn, and it was so good, so good to just…let go.

Mick took a fistful of her hair, pulling her back so that she must see him. "Not Mommy's little girl anymore?" he gasped. "My BETH, oh, Please, Beth…" He pressed his mouth to her hot brow, to her cheeks where tears of frustrated pleasure fell. "Say it. Say you're mine."

"Yours, Mick, all yours," she whispered brokenly.

He grounded himself deep inside her and let her have her way. "Scream, Beth," he urged. "We're alone…we're one…now scream!"

And she did in the end, even as he found his own ferociously silent release, melting his fangs into his Beth. She screamed to shatter the silence of their cavern…screamed to shake the wine cellar.


End file.
